


Nicknames and In-Jokes

by disapparater



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Ron Weasley, Aurors, In-Jokes, Jealous Harry, M/M, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Nicknames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-27 18:47:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disapparater/pseuds/disapparater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry gets really curious about Malfoy's stupid nickname for his Auror partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nicknames and In-Jokes

**Author's Note:**

> When my drunken typos inspire stories...

At eight o'clock on a Friday night there was only one place Harry would ever be found. At the pub, getting pissed, with Ron. This Friday was no different, and they were already on their third pint.

“And then Edith said, 'I don't fuck my sandwich before I eat it.'” Ron clasped Harry's shoulder as he laughed at his own anecdote.

Harry chuckled along, but, not being acquainted with Edith, didn't find it as funny as Ron. Maybe it was a case of having to be there; Ron had a lot of stories like that. It was when he told them that Harry most regretted choosing not to join Ron when he signed up for the Aurors. Harry loved working with Hermione in the newly-formed Department for Support of and Co-operation with Intelligent Magical Beings, but their group of employees was small, and they worked individually. The way Ron talked about his work made the camaraderie of the Aurors always seem so inviting and fun.

As if barging into Harry's thoughts to rub it in, someone spoke to Ron from a few feet away.

“I don't see enough empty pint glasses in front of you. You're not nearly drunk enough after the day we've had.”

Ron looked over at Malfoy and grinned. “You were the one running all 'round town after a pair of shoplifters; I had quite a pleasant time drinking tea and interviewing the shop owner.”

“Oh that's right, you're a lazy bastard who avoids the hard work as often as possible.”

“You know me so well, Malfoy.”

Harry shifted in his chair, uncomfortable at this particular display of camaraderie. Despite Harry's obvious unease, Malfoy moved away from his table of workmates—friends?—and closer to Harry and Ron's table. Other than a small nod, Malfoy didn't even acknowledge Harry's presence.

“I also know of a pub that sells the finest local ale in London. We're heading off in a second; you coming?”

“Nah, I'll stay here and drink myself under the table on regular ale with Harry. When it comes time for him to roll me home, this pub's the closest.”

“You're so considerate.”

Ron nodded solemnly and Malfoy's group headed for the exit.

“Enjoy your sub-standard drink, boys.” Just before he disappeared around the door Malfoy held up an arm and called, “See you on Monday, Weasely!”

Ron returned the gesture, then returned to his drink and Malfoy was gone.

Harry frowned. He'd seen a lot of interaction between Ron and Malfoy since they'd been partnered up, and it always weirded him out how easily the two seemed to get along these days. He'd never been able to put his finger on exactly why, but now he thought he knew.

“Malfoy always calls you Weasely,” he stated.

“Yep,” was Ron's succinct response.

“Not Weasley, which is your name.”

Ron nodded. “Another drink?”

Before Harry could answer, Ron was up and away to the bar.

When a full pint was placed in front of Harry, he ignored it.

“Why?” he asked Ron.

“I thought you wanted another...”

“No. Why does Malfoy call you Weasely? What's that about?”

Ron shrugged. “I don't know.”

“I've heard him do it quite a few times, actually,” said Harry, thinking back to other times he'd seen Ron and Malfoy together, both at the pub and at work. “He doesn't seem to be taking the piss; you'd have called him Ferret or something if he was.” As he spoke, Ron took a long sup on his drink and looked away. “Why does he do it, Ron?”

“It's nothing, Harry; don't worry about it. Stupid Auror nicknames and shit.” He took another long drink while Harry watched him suspiciously. “How's work? Hermione said you were working on some werewolf rights legislation or something?”

Unsubtly changing the subject to ask about his work just cemented Harry's belief that there was something to know about the Weasely thing. He played along, however; punishing Ron by going into full detail about the long-winded attempt at making it unlawful for werewolves to be discriminated against when looking for housing or employment.

The work spiel rolled off of Harry's tongue easily and Ron's eyes soon glazed over. Harry's resolve to find out why the hell Malfoy had such a stupid nickname for Ron heightened.

-

Knowing an answer from Ron was not going to be forthcoming, Harry resorted to the next best thing.

Every Monday Harry would have lunch with Hermione and catch up on what their plans were for the working week. Lunch more often than not took place in Hermione's office, because the woman never stopped working. Today was no exception.

“Did you read my memo about the house-elf meeting?” asked Hermione though a mouthful of her sandwich as she brushed crumbs off the several reports covering her desk.

“Yeah. It was rescheduled why exactly?”

Hermione sighed. “Because they took one look at the food I bought for the meeting and turned their noses up in disgust. They thought I was insulting them; insinuating they can't make decent finger food or some such rubbish.”

Harry hid his laughter behind his burrito and made no comment. As pure as Hermione's intentions, the house-elves were yet to be convinced of her efforts to help them.

“Ron's still telling me to give them up as a lost cause, but I just can't do it. They were the inspiration for this entire department, I can't help every magical being _except_ them!”

Clearing his throat, Harry took the opportunity to broach the topic he wanted to discuss.

“Speaking of Ron...”

“Umm?” Hermione glanced up at him before putting her pen down to show she was listening. “What did he do? Moon people on the way home from the pub on Friday?”

Harry shook his head. “That only happened once, and after the shouts he got about arse freckles, I seriously doubt he'll ever be drunk enough to do it again.”

“What then?” she asked with a fond smile.

“Well it's... It—Why does Malfoy call Ron 'Weasely'?”

“Does he?”

“Yeah, didn't you know?”

“No.” Hermione turned her attention back at the papers littering her desk. “I don't really see them together; Ron's never brought Malfoy home for tea or anything.”

Harry was shocked. Not at Ron never inviting Malfoy over to his house, but at the fact Hermione seemed to know nothing about the Weasely thing.

“But, surely Ron's mentioned it? He told you about the mooning thing, for fuck's sake; you and Ron tell each other _everything_.”

Hermione laughed. “Of course we don't.”

“You don't?” Harry's world was changing before his eyes. Next thing, Hermione would tell him she'd taken up Quidditch and Ron's new favourite food was corned beef.

“I'd never dream of telling Ron I work so late on Fridays while he's out drinking so that I can eat take out just as often as him.”

“Why not?”

“Because then I'd have to stop berating him about eating too many takeaways.” Hermione lifted her finger to point at Harry's disapproving face. “Hey, I order real food from the Leaky for take out, not all the unhealthy crap you two grab in Muggle London!”

“Then why don't you tell him?”

“Because it's easier to not mention it than to spend ages explaining. You know what he's like, he'd never hear reason.”

Harry grinned. “So Ron's never mentioned Malfoy giving him a stupid nickname or anything?”

“No, sorry, Harry. But they seem to be getting on well together, stupid nicknames or not.”

Grin fading, Harry made a non-committal noise before he finished off his burrito and began considering who else he could ask about it.

-

As Harry stepped through the doors of Curl Up & Dye he had to wonder about his sanity. Did he really want to know about Malfoy's stupid nickname for Ron this badly?

Apparently he did, because he strode across the room without a moment's hesitation as soon as Pansy Parkinson appeared. He didn't even flinch at the pair of scissors she held in her hand.

Parkinson looked up as he approached and a bright grin lit up her face.

“Potter! Have you come to let me tame that wild, ugly mop of yours?”

Harry stopped short. “Do you talk to all of your potential customers like that?”

“Yes,” she answered without even pausing. “Have you seen the name of this hairdressers?”

“Good point.”

“So.” Parkinson punctuated that one word with a snap of the scissors in her hand.

“No!” Harry punctuated his word with raised hands while slowly backing away. “I came here to talk to you.”

“We can talk.” Parkinson's grin was back. “While I cut your hair. It's what we hairdressers do.”

Gulping, Harry knew he had no choice. He wanted to get information out of Parkinson, Parkinson wanted to cut Harry's hair (and probably make it look even worse than it already did, Harry suddenly realised). There was nothing for it.

Slumping his shoulders in defeat, Harry threw himself into the nearest empty chair. Before he'd had a chance to blink Parkinson had thrown a sheet over him and fastened it around his neck.

“Stay still,” she warned, “I don't want to chop an earlobe off... again.”

Harry hadn't been moving, but suddenly he was as still as stone. Parkinson giggled.

“I'm joking. I haven't done that in _years_. So, been anywhere nice on holiday?”

With her fingers running through his hair and the sound of her scissors right by his ear, Harry could hardly concentrate. He brushed off her meaningless questions with vague non-answers before he felt the scissors move away from his ears and towards the back of his head. Now able to think, he began asking his own questions.

“You still see Malfoy a lot, right?”

“Of course; he's my best friend. Why? You're not spying on him again, are you? He's a bloody _Auror_ for fuck's sake.”

“I'm not spying on him! Besides he works with Ron.” Harry fidgeted a little in his seat and Pansy gave a warning snap of her scissors by his ear. “I just wondered if you knew why Malfoy calls Ron 'Weasely'?”

“Because he looks like a weasel? Gosh, Potter, why would I know? Shit, why would I _care_? Why the hell are you asking me about it?” Parkinson's scissors were getting precariously close to the back of Harry's neck now. He hoped that meant she was almost finished.

“I just thought Malfoy might've mentioned it to you, is all.”

“Nope.” The scissors were now replaced by a large brush sweeping Harry's neck and around his ears. It was much more pleasant. Parkinson stood back to admire her work. “Why don't you just ask Weasley about it? He's your BFF isn't he?”

“I did ask him,” said Harry as Parkinson removed the sheet from around his neck. “He wouldn't tell me and got all shifty about it. Before I was just curious, now I _need_ to know.”

“Then just ask Draco. He's the one person who will know for sure now, isn't he?”

Harry stood awkwardly from the chair and shrugged, having no idea why he'd not thought to 'just ask Draco'.

Parkinson put her hands on her hips and eyed Harry suspiciously. “Why,” she asked, “did you go out of your way to come here, sit through a forced hair cut and ask me, Draco's best friend, instead of just asking Draco himself?”

“I just thought...” Harry struggled to make up a response to a question he had no answer to. “I don't know... It kind of seemed... He'd never...”

Harry didn't bother. Parkinson still had her hands on her hips, but now she was also giving him a sly, knowing look that Harry didn't like the look of one bit. Suddenly nervous, Harry began side-stepping towards the door.

“Do I, er, owe you anything for—” He motioned to his hair.

“No,” said Parkinson, waving him off with a hand but still smilingly knowingly. “Just tell anyone who asks where you got it cut.”

With a small nod and a quick, “Thanks,” Harry was out the door. He was halfway down the street before Harry even realised he hadn't actually bothered to look at his hair.

\- 

Knowing Malfoy made Ron stay a little later than five to finish his paperwork in the evenings (he'd heard Ron alternately bitch and praise Malfoy for it often enough), Harry went to the pub early on Friday in the hope of speaking to Malfoy alone.

After his useless attempt at getting the information out of Parkinson (though he did admit he got a fairly decent haircut out of it), Harry had resolved to simply ask Malfoy about his stupid nickname for Ron. He felt stupid for not thinking of asking him before, but now that the asking was imminent, he also felt inexplicably nervous. Ron and Malfoy had become fast friends after joining the Aurors, choosing to leave their past and their animosity behind them. Harry and Malfoy had barely said two words to each other since leaving school, which made the prospect of asking Malfoy a potentially personal question rather intimidating.

Harry found Malfoy at the usual pub Friday nights always started in. He was alone, drinking a glass of water and reading a magazine. Plucking up his courage and deciding he just wanted to get it over with, Harry slowly and quietly approached.

“Potter.” Malfoy spoke while Harry was still several paces from the table and without even looking up from his magazine. Bloody Auror.

Harry coughed before finishing his approach and sitting down opposite Malfoy, who lifted his eyes from the magazine and a questioning eyebrow at Harry.

“I just wanted to ask you a quick question.” Harry kept his voice light and friendly.

Malfoy sat back in his seat, obviously amused but interested. “Okay, Potter. What's your question?”

To buy a few seconds of time, Harry licked his lips and drew a breath. As casually as he could, he asked, “Why do you call Ron 'Weasely'?”

A smile was Malfoy's only response for a moment. Then he said, “Why don't you ask Ron?”

“I did,” said Harry quickly. “He wouldn't tell me.”

Malfoy nodded. “Then perhaps I shouldn't tell you, if Ron obviously doesn't want you to know.”

Harry began to wonder which was weirder: Malfoy calling Ron 'Weasely' or Malfoy calling Ron 'Ron'. Either way it was a close call, but before Harry could mull it over any further, Malfoy continued talking.

“Why _do_ you want to know, anyway? It's a simple and friendly in-joke between workmates, what makes you care? Surely you and Ron have thousands. I've never asked him about the nonsense he often goes on about.” Suddenly Malfoy's demeanour changed. The inquisitive look in his eyes was replaced by a calm understanding. “Are you jealous, Potter? I can assure you I'm not stealing your best friend.” Malfoy shook his head. “No, that's not it. You can't be jealous of me becoming chummy with your bestie; outside of work you two might as well be joined at the hip, and every third sentence Ron utters is 'Harry this' or 'Harry that'.”

Hearing Malfoy use his first name caused a physical reaction in Harry. A pleasant shiver ran from the back of newly cut hair all the way down his spine. And all of a sudden, Harry knew _exactly_ why he was so bothered about Malfoy's stupid nickname for Ron. Unfortunately, Malfoy seemed to come to the same conclusion immediately.

“Are you jealous of _Ron_ being so chummy with _me_?” Malfoy leaned across the table, genuine curiosity written all over his face. “Do you want to be _my_ friend and have in-jokes with _me_?” Now Malfoy was smiling and raising his eyebrows suggestively. “Do you want to get close to me?”

Harry took a steadying breath, mentally shrugged and decided he had nothing to lose. Harry looked Malfoy in the eye and nodded.

-

By the time Ron entered the bar an hour or so later, Harry and Malfoy had polished off a few drinks and were openly flirty wildly. Harry loved it. It was seeing his friend that reminded him how he'd ended up in this situation.

Finding he wasn't actually bothered about the answer any more, Harry still found himself asking the question.

“So, why _do_ you call Ron 'Weasely'?”

Malfoy laughed. “You really want to know?” He didn't wait for Harry's answer. “It was our first official day as partners. We weren't on the job yet, but had to attend some stupid seminar meet-and-greet with the desk-job types who get paid way more than we do. Anyway, on the way we stopped for brunch and had a sneaky pint or two. When we got there we found out how cringe-worthy it really was. Everyone had to wear name-tags, and we even had to write our own. Ron, a beer or two down, managed to spell his own bloody name wrong. All afternoon everyone was calling him Weasely and he couldn't figure out why.” Malfoy's eyes were shining with joy at the memory. “He was mortified about it the next day, and I promised him I wouldn't let him forget it.” A satisfied sigh. “And I haven't.”

By the end of Malfoy's story Ron had been to the bar, got a drink and made his way over to them. He looked puzzled at the fact that Harry was sitting with Malfoy, but didn't question it.

“Hey guys,” he said.

Without a moment's hesitation both Harry and Malfoy replied: “Hey Weasely!”


End file.
